


RotE ficlets

by ally_mcgee



Category: Realm of the Elderlings - Robin Hobb
Genre: Angsty kissing, Character Death, Clothed Sex, Dress Up, F/F, F/M, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Height Differences, M/M, Mention of childbirth, Piercings, Witchcraft, awkward half-asleep makeouts, beetle pants, final trilogy spoilers, horrible clothes, more spa days, poor will has no tag, spa days, talking stars, there's no such thing as too many spa days, unreliable stylist fitzchivalry farseer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:00:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25069588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ally_mcgee/pseuds/ally_mcgee
Summary: A collection of ficlets that are too short to be posted alone
Relationships: Amber & Jek (Robin Hobb), FitzChivalry Farseer/Amber, FitzChivalry Farseer/The Fool, Patience Farseer/Lacey (Robin Hobb), Regal Farseer/Will
Comments: 24
Kudos: 32





	1. Migraine Couture (Fitz/Fool)

He watched me with a small smile curving one corner of his mouth as I went through his wardrobe. I tried to be as neat and orderly as possible, which was easier said than done because Lord Golden had a habit of simply stuffing the clothes on the shelves and closing the door on the mess before any could fall out. I took my time. As amused as he was about this, I wanted to do it properly. I recognized many of the garments but most I had never seen him wear. I chose colours that reminded me of happy things, the pale gold of a spring butterfly's wing, the red and blue of his summer motley, the gold of apricot brandy.

When I was satisfied I hugged the colorful pile to my chest and stepped back to where he was waiting, looking carelessly relaxed lounging in the plush red armchair. The simple white linen nightshirt accentuated the rich gold on his skin. He unfolded his long legs and came to his feet lightly, spread his arms, ready and willing.

I set the pile of clothes on his vacated chair and selected the first item to put on him.

The leggings were made of some strange fluid fabric that had looked copper but once unfolded turned out to have an oily green sheen to it, like the shell of a beetle. As I pulled them up to his slim hips I caught a glimpse of black lace under the hem of his shirt. I was suddenly very aware of how much touching this required. As if aware of my thoughts he cleared his throat, turned around and lifted the shirt. 

The leggings had to be laced up in the front.

I swallowed. That was definitely black lace he was wearing underneath. He made a bemused little murmur as I struggled with the leather string, how had tying a neat and simple knot abruptly become an impossible task? I noticed his bare fingertips rubbing against the white linen of the nightshirt he had gathered in his hands. A sudden spike of pure need rose in me, so intense it made my head reel. I steadied myself with my hands on his hips.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

He barely had to lean forward to gently press his forehead against mine. I felt the tips of our noses touch. For a moment we just stood there, me breathing in the air he exhaled, until I felt brave enough to open my eyes again.

I kept my gaze firmly on his face as he stripped off the night shirt and took the pale yellow silk shirt from my hands to put it on. He allowed me to pull his hair from under the collar to cascade over his shoulders. The sleeves of the shirt were voluminous and the cuffs were of darker yellow lace. I left them undone for now and moved on instead to the vest I had chosen for him, red and blue.

The vest was made of smooth satin with shiny silver clasps in the front and small silver beads decorating the lapels. But the real reason I had chosen it, besides the lovely colouring, was the fact that it was also boned and laced up like a corset in the back, all the way from the waistband of the leggings to the nape of his neck. I pulled at the red ribbon and watched as it flowed through the holes, tightening the ocean blue satin firmly to his body. He shifted slightly and I was momentarily mesmerized by the way his shoulder blades moved under the shiny fabric. 

I managed an acceptable bow at the small of his back and stepped around him to make sure the front fit smoothly. 

He looked lovely. The boning made his waist look slimmer and shoulders more pronounced, and the combination of bright red, almost turquoise blue and pale yellow made me think of a summer meadow, clean air and freedom.

I couldn't help but smile, then felt a blush burn my cheeks when I realized how intently he was staring at me.

I was glad for the excuse to hide my face as I knelt down in front of him to put socks and shoes on his feet.

The hours he had spent with his feet soaking in warm scented water had paid off. The skin of his foot was smoother than the whisper-thin silk of the stocking. My fingers felt rough and clumsy around his delicate ankle. He curled his toes against the forget-me-not blue silk. I still did not dare look up at his face.

I stayed on my knees to help him step into the shoes I had picked. Green satin and pink roses because he loved flowers so much, a bit of a heel to make his dancing even more graceful. He had his hand on my shoulder for balance as he carefully extended his ankles to properly settle his feet in the shoes. 

I rose. Next were the gloves. He offered his hands to me, first his unmarked one, then the Skill-silvered. My breath caught in my throat. Silver and gold, just like my silver earring next to his gold one in his ear. With shaking hands I guided the purple leather glove over his fingers and unrolled it over his forearm. The tiny black gemstones caught the orange firelight.

He held still as I tightened the cuffs of the shirt over the gloves, only hummed approvingly as I pulled at the lace to make it settle more elegantly over the back of his hand.

Then I wrapped the last item, a short, embroidered capelet, around his shoulders. It was white and gold and trimmed with soft white fur. His laugh was warm against the side of my neck as I struggled with the tiny pearl buttons along the shoulder seam. I had not realized they were buttons. I would not have chosen this if I had.

At last, I was done. The final touch was pinning a small black and white silk flower onto the front of the capelet. I was about to step back to admire my work but was instead blind-sided by need for the second time when he wrapped a gentle but firm hand around the braid at the back of my head and pulled me down for a kiss. It started out innocent, just a chaste brush of his lips against mine, but his grip on my hair made it feel decidedly less so. Before I knew what I was doing I had my hands on him, fingers following the bones of the corset down the curve of his cinched waist as I pulled his body flush against mine to kiss him deeper. He breathed a small sound into my mouth, pleased and not very surprised. I felt so thoroughly undone by that kiss, the way he caught my lower lip with his teeth and soothed it with his tongue afterwards, the way his other hand ran up my arm and shoulder to the side of my neck, that I'm sure the only thing keeping me on my feet was him.

I was just about to undo the knot on the back of his vest when he pulled back, leaving me gasping.

"Thank you," he said, smiling.


	2. News (Will/Regal)

No one likes giving Prince Regal bad news and the worst part is you never know which news is bad until the message is delivered and then there's not much else to do but cover your soft bits and back slowly out of harm's way. Just one of the perks of being in the inner circle of the youngest Farseer prince.

Sometimes there's a round of dice or some other gamble involved to pick the unlucky sod who gets to go ruin Regal's day, but most often, like this time, Will has to take on the task simply because no one else can know about it.

He has chosen his timing very carefully, after his bath and getting his hair done Regal is always in a much better mood. Whatever it is that makes his hair so soft and smell all sweet and creamy has the added bonus of making him much less of a pain in the ass. 

There's no valet by the door to admit him even though he made sure to wait for the page to return with confirmation that he was indeed expected.  
Nothing to do but knock and wait for the call to enter. What he gets instead is nearly hit in the face by the door.

Will steps aside to let the hairdresser pass. The man is young, blushing, and won't meet his eyes which could make Will feel jealous if that was the kind of man he was but he isn't so it doesn't.

The room is very warm and smells vaguely of those fragrant nuts that grow on the warm islands of the Southern seas.

Regal leans back against the veritable mountain of pillows on the low couch and meets Will's eyes in the small mirror sitting on the table by his elbow. He's shirtless to avoid any damage to his clothing by all the oils, and also possibly to make a point to Will. You never really know with him. 

Will squares his shoulders. He is here first and foremost to report important information.

"Good morning, I'm sorry to bother you, but there's something I think you need to know. Something I realized a while ago, that may actually prove to be quite useful."

"Hey," Regal says and extends a hand to him. "C'mere" 

"My prince, I need to talk to you."

There's a bare foot between his thighs. Damnit.

"So talk, report or whatever."  
Regal makes a show of stretching luxuriously, rolls his neck and leans over the back of the couch to pour himself a glass of sweet honey wine, casually, as if his toes weren't pulling at the inseam of Wills leggings.

"It's…. about the Bastard."

"Oh goody."

"Galen's little corking trick seems to be losing effect. He's erratic yes but so much stronger than any of us knew. The good thing is, he doesn't seem to know it either."

"But you do, obviously. What is the point of this? I never thought you'd be one to brag and even if you were, I don't care." Regal smiles sweetly up at him. There's an insistent pressure on the back of Will's right knee.

"I have a point, my prince, I promise-"

"Mm-hm. Say that again." A heel to the back of his thigh gets Will off balance and he ends up on the floor, kneeling between Regal's legs. Thankfully the plush carpet softens the blow a little.

"I have a point?" he repeats. Regal says nothing, only raises one impeccably styled eyebrow, and then Will's guided onto the couch by a gentle yet insistent finger tip under his chin. Regal melts against the soft cushions and closes his eyes. It's awkward, Will's elbows slip on the smooth silky fabrics and the prince's idea of helping is fisting his hand into Will's hair entirely too tightly to be even remotely comfortable.

"Keep talking."

"Uhh."

Teeth scrape at his neck, bite down just behind his left ear. He's not allowed to do it back, no leaving marks on His Royal Highness.

"He… dreams. Skill-dreams, loud enough to wake the dead… Will shifts, balances himself with a hand on Regal's thigh.  
"Not too long ago he started dreaming about a woman. A very specific woman and in a very… specific way."

Regal slaps his hand away and pushes himself up on his elbows.

"Did you go full August on your own brain or something? Why in the world would you think that talking about the Bastard's wet dreams was a way to get me excited?"

Will snorts at that. Regal glares at him. That's not a sexy glare. That's an "I will invite that cute hair stylist back in and make you watch in the corner" -glare.

"What I mean," Will tries again, "is that he really really likes this girl. It's bordering on obsession. And she's a servant here. At the Keep."

A slow, nasty smile spreads onto Regal's face. He should not be allowed to get dimples when he smiles like that, Will thinks. He also gives himself a mental slap in the face for bringing this up. It's very difficult not to kiss him when he smiles like that.

"A weakness," Regal says, idly running his finger up Will's sleeve. Will allows himself a mental sigh of relief. Another storm dodged.  
"A weakness he doesn't know I know he has", Regal continues almost dreamily.  
He gives a little giggle.

"I'm sort of surprised. An indoor servant seems like an upgrade for him. I was expecting perhaps a goose girl. Or a sheep."

"There's more. Recently he hasn't been leaking so badly anymore. Either the lady has put him to his place, which is unlikely because we would have heard of it, or…"

"Someone's been teaching him."

Will nods.

"Fucking Verity."

"Fucking Verity."


	3. Stars (Desire)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desire Mountwell was a hedgewitch/weird Farrow trad magic AU
> 
> tw mention of childbirth

The moonless sky is a velvet curtain high above the infinite grassland. The color of darkest blue in ink. Farseer blue they call it but it's not. It's older than them, older than the time they count.   
Cold stars mark the secret symbols that decide the fates of Kings and peasants alike. 

The stars foretold the birth of her son and the bones confirmed it. 

The venous blood of the chicken bubbled bright, clean red as she cut out its heart. She followed the signs past a lightning struck tree, charred black as tar, all the way down to the riverbank and found the man knee deep in reeds.

An accident? A mistake?   
Sacrilegious, insulting words thrown around by people who had never heard the stars speak.

She crouches down, biting her lip to keep her face dignified despite the flames searing her pelvis from the inside.   
Deep breaths. The dark is watching.

She slips and lands sitting on her own heel, bites into her own arm as everything below her navel melts into white hot agony.   
She tastes blood. In the dark it looks black.   
She wipes away her tears with her sleeve.

Desperately slow, panting and shaking like an old crone she eases herself down onto her back and opens her eyes to eternity.

She breathes in the desert dust, fine powder of thousands of years ground down into oblivion, forgotten lives and words greeting her as one of their own.   
As a rightful Queen.

"I have come," she whispers to the black and blue, "to ask for affirmation."

A vast silence follows her words, a soundless wind moves above her as she sinks down, relaxing into the parched grass. High up in the heavens The Archeress twinkles, bright and strong and unforgiving.

Avoiding a scandal, mother had called it as she stole the child from her, not even letting her look at him. All she had seen was blood, bright red blood and a tuft wet, black hair.

Red as blood, black as tar.

She would show them a scandal.


	4. Kisses (Jek/Amber, Patience/Lacey, Fitz/the Fool)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three short kiss vignettes done for a challenge
> 
> tw. character death in the second one

"He is a stupid, blind idiot of a man, but maybe he's not the only one."  
Jek can tell from the set of her jaw that Amber was ready to argue the first part of her statement, but her indignation quickly turns into confusion.  
"What?"  
Jek takes a deep breath.  
"Maybe he's not the only one oblivious to love."  
Amber seems frozen, her eyes incredibly round.  
“Whatever this grand master plan of yours is, whatever great injustice needs solving”, Jek heaves a breath. Her chest feels tight, like she's not getting enough air. ”Let others deal with it. this time. I'm only going to ask you once", says, turning to stare at the magnificent golden folding screen on the other side of the room. "Leave all this. Leave him. Leave with me."

No answer. She has to steer herself and turn to look at her companion. Amber has her gloved hands in front of her mouth, tears welling up in her dark gold eyes.  
When Jek gently peels her hands off her face her mouth is moving, but Jek doesn't want to hear the 'No'.

She puts everything she has into that kiss. Every slow morning in Bingtown, every spray of salty water when the ship hit a wave, every mouthful of expensive coffee.

"I can't", is what she feels against her lips.

*

What if she had been more organized and neat, she wonders, cleaned up more often. If she hadn't been in such a rush to fill her time, might she have had a moment longer with her? 

Silly things to wonder, but if there's a place one is allowed to be their honest silly self it's this one.  
The body on the bed is still and colorless, she almost imagines she can see the morning sunlight through her now sallow, lifeless skin.

She must be cold.  
It takes a great effort to pull the bright shawl from under her stiff body. In the end the old woman is out of breath and dizzy.  
"Ridiculous", she grumbles as she all but falls down on the bed next to her friend. "Isn't it?"

Her toiling has upset the fine arraignment of curls against the white satin pillow, one has fallen over closed eyes.

She brushes it away as gently as she can.  
Her back creaks as she strains to lean forward to press a kiss between her brows.  
"Ridiculous", she whispers as tears fall on dead skin, run down cold cheeks and between stiff lips.

*

Nighteyes is darting in and out of the water, mocking me for letting the water disturb my balance, then proves his point by crouching low behind and pushing his wet heat between my knees. I stumble, bare feet slipping on the smooth river stones.  
"That has to be the most dignified thing I have ever seen", the Fool comments from his artful crouch on top of a rock. His glove is off and his silvered fingertips are idly caressing a curve on the pine branch balanced on his knees.  
"You shouldn't-" I start. He rolls his eyes with a groan, stands up on the rock and flings the branch into the water.  
"Fetch!" He jumps down.

Nighteyes' ears twitch.

"Oh, I meant you."  
He gets a head start of the blink of an eye it takes me to register what he said. He's laughing as he scrambles up the grassy riverbank, breathless with mirth as I catch him by the waist and pull him back down.

He ends up on his back on the wet grass, my elbows on both sides of his head.  
I look at him, his cheeks pink from running, his pale eyes and white hair tangling with leaves of grass and realize with agonizing clarity that we are both going to die.  
He stops laughing, raises his pale eyebrows at my sudden seriousness.

All it takes is stop holding my head up, really, his mouth is right there and I don't want him to ask what I'm thinking about.  
His hand is freezing cold and trembling as he brings it up to the back of my neck, turns his head to get more comfortable.

_I got his stick_ , Nighteyes informs me helpfully before letting the slimy wet branch fall on my head.  
_We should go back._  
"We should", the Fool agrees.


	5. Tents (Fitz/the Fool)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> contains spoilers for Fitz and the Fool -trilogy

The angry northern wind howls in the treetops, every now and then a branch gives up and falls down on the tent with a soft rap. The longer he listens, the louder the sounds become. 

None of his five slumbering companions seem disturbed by the noise.

He's warm, snuggled under two and a half blankets, between the wolf, sniffing after prey in a dream, and the sleepy heat of Fitz. Only his fingers are still cold, the tips insistently white and tingling. He slides them between his thighs.

It's an odd thing, love, he thinks as he stares up at the tent ceiling. Heavy, wet clumps of snow slide down like fat snails, illuminated from underneath by their little fire. Like fire, love can shed light on things, make them look different and show you something you didn't know was there. And then it ends up being fat snails. He feels stupid. He rolls over onto his side, stare at the black shadow that is Nighteyes.

Love makes people do stupid things. That has been common knowledge since the dawn of time. Not even the minstrels who sing about it are immune. He smiles wryly at the shadow of a big lump of snow, sliding down the side of the tent and landing on the ground next to it with a faint wet splat. The wolf beside him twitches, but doesn't stir.

A warm hand snakes under the covers and around his waist, like every night. That's how he knows Fitz is truly asleep. He ignores the hand, like every night. The sacrifices I make, he smiles wryly at the darkness. Catalyst, coming to change all things. He tries to roll his hips as discreetly as he can. 

How easy it would be, if he could just be a Prophet and nothing else. Only care about saving the world, not have any of these confusing feelings. Or at least fake well enough to convince himself.

Love. Such a tiny word for such a huge thing. A beautiful, innocent, flawless thing, yet it can be thrown around like a rock, cut with like a knife.

You love him, don't you.

Love like that. 

Like  _ that _ .

A shuddering exhale against the skin of his neck. He shifts, pretending to move away from the heat of Fitz's body but sliding right back into the comfortable indent in the bedding. I love you enough to pretend. And you're not even awake to appreciate it. 

Soft fingers pet the front of his shoulder. The wolf's back leg jerks, and something hard presses against the small of his back. That's…. not like every night.

This is something new, something he can't explain away. Every nerve ending below his navel is eager and ready to remind him that this is New and Exciting, and before he even knows what he's doing he's tilted his hips just enough to get Fitz firmly settled better between his thighs. His face is burning.

Nighteyes flicks his ear.

Fitz shivers, presses tighter against him. A pleased little moan tickles his ear.

This is wrong, he tells himself firmly as he tries to summon the self-control to untangle himself from Fitz's heated embrace.

For someone who's practically unconscious Fitz's grip is effortlessly strong. All his futile struggling seems to only get Beloved even closer to the body behind him.

"Yes." It's so soft and quiet he's not sure if he imagined it, but it's enough to kill his wavering resolve. He doesn’t even have to do anything, just stop fighting it and allow himself to be touched, held,  _ tangled.  _ He squirms around in his embrace, ends up with one leg around Fitz’s hips. 

"You shouldn't do that", he whispers against the mouth of the boy he loves. Everything is so good. That’s an understatement. All those times he squeezed his eyes closed and let his own hand travel down under his clothes and bit his lip in mortification, trying and failing not to think of Fitz.. that was good. This… is  _ everything _ . 

Fitz’s breath in his mouth is so hot he’s sure the inside of the tent is soon dripping with condensation.

Every move sends little tingles up his spine and down his legs, like his entire body is also learning all sorts of new ways to feel, things he doesn't even have words for. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over him, every move of Fit’s hips against his make tiny white stars explode inside his eyelids...

“Shhhh, you’ll wake the others.” His voice is barely audible but he sounds very pleased with himself.

“Wha- hey… you’re not asleep!” He blinks up at him, still disoriented.

“I guess I’m not.”

“Are you sure… do you want to stop?” It seems a stupid question considering Fitz’s hips are still moving against his.

“No.”

“Good.”

It's even better now that Beloved doesn’t have to fight feelings of wrongness and guilt. He wants to stop, wants to ask Fitz more questions just to hear him say how he's fine with this, how much he also wants it. Instead he just holds on, vaguely aware that he's possibly whispering "I love you" into Fitz's ear, but too far gone to even begin to feel embarrassed.

It's never felt this good alone. They're uncoordinated, it's too hot under the blankets and the spreading wetness between their bodies makes their clothes sticky and disgusting. It's absolutely perfect.

The aftershocks make Beloved's legs twitch and the air in the tent feel chilling against his face and neck. His fingers ghost over the scar tissue in the middle of Fitz's back and a sudden shudder wrecks the body on top of him. For a short horrifying moment Beloved thinks he's hurt him, or that he's having a seizure.

Fitz sobs against his neck, hips moving ones, twice, before he falls down on top of him like a rag doll.

Sticky, hot, cold and exhausted, Beloved lets the words die at his lips, allowing himself instead to fall asleep, holding his entire universe in his arms.

*

He had steered himself for this. He was determined to talk about it the next morning, but after seeing Fitz's face, so confused and sorry and adorable, he abruptly cannot do it. 

He's glad for an excuse not to.

Selfish, but maybe it's alright, sometimes, to let a part of yourself exist in a world of half-truths and pretense if it means that good memories can stay intact. Is it dishonest to wish for a safe place to run to, a place not ruined by definitions and shame.

It hurts, hurts deep behind his rib cage, to see the questioning look in those dark eyes turn into pure relief. Fitz looks so grateful and happy, nods at him with a small shy smile before jumping to help Kettricken with the packing.

The best gift Beloved has given to the boy he loves is the permission to ignore that love.

  
  


*

"You loved him, didn't you?"

She really didn't think this through, did she. The voice is different but the lips forming the words are  _ his. _ "Of course I did." She closes her eyes, takes a deep shuddering breath. "Now stop asking about it "

  
  


*

  
  


Years have passed, the world is different. Different names, different roles, different places. A different tent. His heart in his throat, trying to keep calm, Beloved watches the man he loves come to halt at the entrance of the tent, hand hovering over the tie holding the flap closed.

Fitz's hand falls back down, he turns back.

The relief is so strong Beloved fears he will pass out. Apology and forgiveness. A whisper through the Skill-link.

Fitz comes to back him, not smiling but not wary either.

As if a circle has finally closed, smoothly and perfectly, leaving no visible seam for an eye or a fingertip to discover.

He remembers a night in a cold, lonely cell. The word 'liar' beaten into his young flesh until he lost consciousness. 

Her mocking words from behind the heavy, locked door, "Not so pretty anymore, are you? We'll have to blind fold everyone else in the breeding program."

His hand, slick with blood, slipping on the stone wall as he tried and failed to get up. He settled for simply turning onto his side, the less bruised one. 

Cheek against the chill, grimy floor he lay, staring at the blood stain he had left on the wall.

An errant beam of moonlight painted the marks silver, just for a fleeting moment, but he saw it. He did not know why, then, but he knew it was significant. Three perfect silver prints of the three first fingers of his right hand.


	6. Twenty-one Rings (Fitz/Amber)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amber gets piercings and Fitz tries to understand how feelings work

Amber twirled a tiny golden hoop in her lace-covered fingers. There was a definite femininity to the way she was standing, hips tilted and back arched just enough to make the copper-brown fabric of her dress cling to the slim curve of her waist, but the mischievous look in her golden eyes was familiarly the Fool’s. 

I had commented on the new adornments on her face. In addition to her ever-growing number of earrings, -she now had six in each and one thick golden stud directly through the cartilage of her left lobe-, there was now an intricate filigree ring on her nose, sitting just on top of her upper lip, two thinner rings with pale pink pearls on her lower lip and a delicate stud of what looked like mother-of-pearl curving behind her left eyebrow, in the exact same spot as my old scar distorted mine.

The last realisation had shaken me to my core and in my desperate attempt to hide my sudden vulnerability I had said that the nose ring looked like something you would expect to see on a working bull.  Her smile had gotten somewhat strained at that, but she remained perfectly calm, if a little haughty as she informed me that it was the height of fashion in the Rainwilds. I had thankfully managed to stop myself before I asked her if they even had bulls in the Rainwilds.

“So… you don’t like them?” Her voice was airy but there was a dangerous, weigh-your-words-carefully -undertone there that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. Confusing, like everything about her.

Did I like them? I certainly couldn’t help but stare at the two lip rings, the way they moved when she spoke, the way they pulled at her lip, making it look fuller, the way the pearls caught the light like drops of moisture… Her skin always felt cool, would the metal feel warmer or colder? As I stared, she pulled at one of the rings with her teeth. I wondered if they tasted like metal. 

“Fitz?” 

I looked up to meet her eyes, blinking away my bewilderment. “What?”

She smiled at me, rather like someone might smile at a child who’s s little stupid but has made them proud in some way.

It had taken me time to get used to Amber. After our unfortunate first meeting and what had followed after I had resolved to simply ignore her existence. For my own peace of mind, I had told myself. I didn’t want her poisoning what had finally been mended between me and my dearest friend. 

But then fate saw fit to bring us both, me and her, south to Bingtown, to live among her old friends and acquaintances. Thanks to a certain carving on a certain ship, everyone assumed us to be… together. Not married, Amber had explained, but that was the kind of scandal everyone would find believable of her. I did not ask her to elaborate.

What followed instead was a careful negotiation of sleeping arrangements, appropriate displays of affection and acceptable pet-names to be used in public, and a late night of meticulous planning to make sure our stories matched.

I had expected to get used to my new role fairly quickly, I always did, but I had not anticipated to enjoy it quite so much. Amber led an active social life just as Lord Golden had, but where Tom Badgerlock had been stuck standing behind his master’s chair, unobtrusive and invisible, Lord FitzChivalry was very much invited to join in. 

Amber was popular, but in a different way than Lord Golden had been. People didn’t seek her company to advance their businesses or to get ahead politically, they were drawn to her simply because of who she was. A fun, witty conversationalist, a talented artist and a vocal defender of the weak and the shunned. Her friends came from all walks of life, we dined at the finest Trader manors, sampled wines with merchants who looked more like pirates to me at shuttered down warehouses in the harbour, drank tea with tattooed slave women by a watering hole and watched a puppet show with veiled Rainwilders in the back room of a dim, smoky tea parlour.

I was becoming quite taken with her, too. 

The Fool had always been quick-witted and clever, and I had seen his charm unfurl as Lord Golden, but Amber somehow managed to tie it all together into something completely new. She was down to earth and unassuming, not afraid to jump knee-deep into a muddy tide pool to get to a hut on a rock surrounded by the rising sea, and mere hours later could take my breath away as she stepped out from behind the folding screen in a flowing black evening gown and some shimmering powder that made her look like a moon beam come to life.

I soon found myself initiating physical contact as often as she did. I could not deny that I enjoyed the envy I saw in the eyes of others when I touched her arm at the dinner table or set my hand lightly on her waist to guide her through a crowded room. She made me feel graceful and exciting just by existing. She never said anything but the look she gave from under her dark gold lashes told me she was greatly enjoying it, too.

Physical touching is a primal need for humans as well as animals. Nuzzling, grooming, snuggling close to sleep, these were all as essential to our well-being as food and water.

Closeness, holding and being held.

It was what I had been longing after from Starling during those lonely years I spent living in my solitary cabin, and what I had denied myself at Buckkeep.

I could sense that Amber wanted to talk about it, to ask me about my change of heart but I was afraid talking would break whatever it was that was growing inside me. As ironic as that was, I thought, swallowing my shame, that I was selfishly hiding what I had forced her to face and discuss in another life. It meant nothing, I told myself as I laced my fingers with hers and allowed her to pull me close for what was apparently some new Jamaillian dance. This was my dearest friend, who I had suffered death and torment with, we had walked through multiple fates and ages…

“Focus”, Amber hissed at me then, and reached back behind her to lift my hand back up onto her waist. I blushed when I realised how low it had slipped. She smiled up at me coyly. “Not that I don’t like that, but this is a public place.”

I hid my burning face in her hair.

The tipping point finally came in the form of a royal missive from Queen Kettricken, apologizing for the inconvenience but bidding me to return to The Six Duchies at my earliest convenience. Under the official message she had written another, this one a more direct and personal, promising that I would be able to return to my new life as soon as possible, she would do everything in her power to assure that. Something in her choice of words made me wonder if the Fool also kept correspondence with her. Or Amber? Did Kettricken know her?

When I asked her about it, the day before I was meant to board a ship and head back north, Amber appeared delightedly scandalized by the very idea of someone like her, a simple artisan, associating with a Queen.

“You didn’t say no”, I pointed out after her little performance.

“Didn’t I? Oh, Fitz, these are so delicious you have to try one, here!” She cut off my questioning with a plump red strawberry she had dipped in some fragrant syrup.

She wasn’t lying, it did taste good. Good enough that I let her feed me another one.

I watched her lick the tips of her fingers clean of syrup, slow and meticulous, like a cat cleaning its paw.  I don’t know what happened to me then, it was as if my mind had shut down and let my body run itself. I took her in my arms and kissed her.

She got over her shock remarkably quickly and seemed to all but melt against me. Her fingers, gloved and bare, tangled in my hair and my brain decided to wake up just to inform me how fortunate it was that she had cleaned them so thoroughly. I laughed against her mouth and she squirmed and pressed tighter against me. I felt her cool tongue brush against mine.

It was the fierceness of my hunger for her that scared me back to my senses. I realized I had dug my fingers into the swell of her hip and was reaching for her, desperately and recklessly with both Skill and Wit. 

And something, thin, wavering and questioning, was reaching back, even though the hand grasping my left bicep was still gloved.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, a little dazed, when I pushed her away from me. 

I wiped my mouth. Her lips looked bruised.

“I shouldn’t have, I mean, that” I waved my hands in a futile effort to make her understand. She only looked more confused, and to my horror, a little sad..

“I’m not taking it back, I just…” I fumbled for words.

“I don’t think you can take a kiss back, actually”, she said in a dreamy voice, gloved finger tracing her own lip, “Once you’ve given one to someone, it’s theirs.”

“I… meant that I wouldn’t want to.” 

“Oh.”

“That I’m happy that you’re keeping it.” None of the things I was saying made any sense.

“Alright”, she agreed regardless, even nodding as if she had truly understood. Then she sighed and squared her shoulders. 

“I’m going to go upstairs now.”

“Right.”

“We can talk about this after you return.” Her eyes were very wide and dark.

The next morning she was perfectly in-character on the docs seeing me off, jokingly warning me not to keep her waiting for too long. The small kiss she leaned to place on the corner of my mouth made me shiver.

My returning to Buck for the spring months on the Queen’s behest gave me some much needed time to think. 

A threat of an uprising by some suspiciously well-organized nomad families in Farrow kept me busy, but also gave me the distance I needed to look at my life from a new perspective. I had returned to my country, but I felt like a visitor. I found myself tasting once-familiar foods with renewed appetite, wondering at the different scents the air carried, and kneeling to pick interesting flowers to dry and ‘take home with me’. 

Home is people. Not a place.

I started many letters to Amber but burned every single one. Then I wrote one, with only one line, addressed to Beloved. 

I cursed my own cowardice as I watched it turn to ashes.

I tried talking to Chade, which was the worst mistake of all. I had come up with the perfect story to tell him without revealing too much, about a woman I had met and wished to confess my feelings to.

He laughed at me, heartily and long, then patted me on the shoulder and told me it was about time. I asked him what he meant by that and he laughed some more.

“I do not understand what is so funny about this”, I grumbled as I watched him wipe tears from his eyes.

“Oh, nothing. I’m simply happy for you.”

I glared at him. He ignored me.

“One piece of advice, boy.”

“And what is that?”

“Get over yourself and just do it.” 

  
  


Which brought me to this moment, in Amber’s bedroom on the second floor of our little house in one of the less traditional parts of Bingtown. She had opened the windows to let in the long awaited sea-breeze, the first after what I had been told had been two stiflingly hot weeks.

She stepped closer to me, stopping just outside my personal space. She wore perfume, which was odd, I had come so accustomed to the Fool being the scentless one. She smelled of a spice I had come to love in Bingtown, a black powder that was sweet in small quantities but strong to the point of burning if you added too much. 

The skin of my wrist tingled.

“The jewelry" she repeated. "You don’t think they suit me?”

Another step.

“There’s more, you know”, she continued in a casual, breezy tone. “In other places.”

“What?” I asked stupidly.

“Ears, brows, nose and lips aren’t the only places on a body you can pierce.”

It took my mind a moment to process what she was telling me. My mouth went very dry. 

Yet another step. She was close enough for me to touch now.

I had meant to talk to her. To tell her how I felt and to apologize and make her understand how difficult it was but that I didn’t care. I had meant to say words.

Instead I was staring, mouth open and frozen where I was, as she took another step closer. 

With a gentle brush of her black lace covered fingers against the skin of my cheek she guided my face down for a kiss. The Skill-hunger washed over me suddenly and violently like a crashing wave, and for a moment I just clung to her, fighting for control. She was so close, foreign but so familiar, every touch of her gloved hand was a tantalizing promise of what she could give me.

But she was so much more than those three fingers.

She was cool, smooth skin and rapidly beating heart, wet, willing mouth and the surprising hardness of metal. 

The rings on her lips clinked against my teeth as I kissed her deeper, a giddying contrast of sensations. She gave a low, needy groan when I sucked one of the pearls into my mouth.

With clumsy fingers I undid the lacing on her dress and pushed it off her shoulders to fall on the floor. She wasn’t wearing a corset, only a short sleeveless undershirt of the thinnest white cotton and pants that came to the middle of her thighs. I offered my hand to her to help her step out of the heap of copper cloth and she curtsied to me like a fine lady at court.

A glimmer of gold caught my eye as she straightened again.

She graciously pulled up her top and let me undo the drawstring and pull her pants down onto her hips to get a better look at the piece of jewelry on her navel. It was a ring with an incredibly detailed deer skull on it. It was perfectly rendered, with pointed antlers and bright red rubies for eyes. 

“I… I heard the girls here wore these... As love charms of some sort..” I barely dared to touch the minuscule piece of art. “Is this one of those?”

“Well, is it working?”

“I’m not sure”, I lied as I danced my fingers over her hip bone. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

She took my hand and slid it under her shirt.

Watching her face as I explored every bit of skin I could reach was fascinating. She let her eyes close and her head fall back as I traced her ribs up her side. Her lips moved as if she was speaking but I could hear no words. My fingers found a hardening nub of flesh but also something else. How was it even possibly to pierce your… I didn’t understand but it didn’t matter. I gave the ring a tentative pull and she moaned louder than I had ever heard her. She kissed me, wet and desperate.

I whined against her mouth.

“Can I take this off? I managed, my other hand trembling on the hem of her undershirt.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for that working bull comment”, she whispered back, breathless from kissing. ”But I will, if you can figure out where this belongs.” She pulled back from me enough to show me her pinky finger, the tip encircled by a shiny, golden ring.

“Wh- what?”

“And if you can’t”, she fell back against me, one bare tan leg sliding around my thigh, “then maybe we can put it somewhere on you.” 

I choked.

She laughed at me and pressed her lips to the side of my neck.

I caught her by the chin and kissed her again, determined to get her even close to as overwhelmed and senseless as she was making me. I felt her stumble but I caught her tight in my arms.

“Oh, Fitz”, she sighed, and it wasn’t Amber, not quite, but not the Fool either. It was her slim arms around my shoulders and his quiet, teasing laugh and Lord Golden’s flirtily raised eyebrows. 

And the softest lips I had ever kissed, and metal against my teeth.

And I think that in that moment I think I finally understood something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Fitz also ends up with a nose ring.  
> The jewelry design was inspired by the lovely art of katrindraws on instagram, it's canon to me now that Rainwild folk have all sorts of cool piercings and bling


	7. Kiss challenge vignettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some snippets I wrote for the kisslet challenge   
> Fitz/Amber  
> Chivalry/Rurisk  
> Justin/Serene  
> Will/Regal

42.

"We're going to be late", she said, but her gloved hands on my wrists made no effort to push them away. Instead they moved up my forearms as my fingers circled her corseted waist. She came down willingly, the endless layers of red silk unfurling over my legs until I couldn't see my feet. The candle light glimmered on her hair and the scaling on her shoulder. Scarlet and gold.

Her breath hitched. I had never understood the reason some women insisted on lacing themselves so tightly it impaired their breathing but something about that soft gasp and the way her ribs moved under the fine fabric made me want to protect her, shield her, snarl and growl and snap at anyone daring to threaten her.

She kissed my bared teeth then, curving against me so perfectly she could have been molded to be a part of me.

Her hands on the sides of my face held my entire being, her lips on mine were home.

  
  


35.

"We're going to be late," he frowns at the paper, "or worse, never even ready at all." 

"Oh no", Rurisk says, voice perfectly flat. "Oh dear. What a travesty. How will we ever live it down."

Chivalry glares at him. "Correct me if I'm wrong but I get the feeling you are not taking this entirely seriously."

"How dare you", Rurisk grins at him. "I have never been this serious about anything in my life."

He steps closer and ducks under Chivalry's arm so that he's standing between the other man and the table. "Would I be here this late in the night if I wasn't."

Raking his nails up the back of Chivalry's thigh makes his serious expression crack into a delighted grin, the kind that makes his top lip curl and nose wrinkle. There's nothing else for Rurisk to do but kiss him, on the tip of his chin, the corner of his mouth, the side of his nose. It gets him what he wants, a firm, warm hand on the back of his head, holding him still to be kissed so thoroughly he feels like his knees will give in. The edge of the table digs into the small of his back and there's a clever tip of tongue tickling behind his front teeth. It's the most perfect kiss he has ever had and then it's over, all too soon.

"We need to finish the draft", Chivalry says, voice low and a little uneven, but he still pulls back, turns to smooth the cursed piece of paper that has somehow gotten rumpled. "Or else we're going to be late and that is unacceptable."

41.

"We're going to be late," she stops by the looking-glass glass to make sure she looks presentable and professional. There's a small vat of water left out, she wets her hands and smooths her hair back. Her eyes look a little wide, she looks more like an excited child than a leader of a coterie. She lifts her jaw. This is it. Get it together now.

Justin still hasn't moved. He's poking at a broken tile on the corner of the fireplace

"What are you doing? Come on!"

He mumbles something. Irritated, she steps back to him. 

"What?"

"I don't like boats." His voice is so quiet the crackling fire nearly drowns it.

"What?"

"They scare me. Well, not the boats. The sea."

Serene sighs.

"It's not a boat. It's a ship."

"Same difference."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is", he whines.

She shakes her head. He's impossible.

"Don't be such a baby. You're a member of a Skill coterie now. Act the part."

She raises herself up on the tips of her toes to give him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Come on."

This time he follows her out. She catches a glimpse of his shaky smile in the looking-glass.

  
  
  


17.

"We're going to be late."

"No,  _ you're _ going to be late. I'm the King, nothing starts until I'm there." He makes a show of splashing the water with his feet, curls his toes against the pale pink marble of the bathtub.

"All they do is complain anyway. Why do I even have to be there?" 

"Because you are the King. And because we set the time."

Regal rests his chin on the rim of the tub and looks up at Will.

"So are you saying I'm not worth the wait?"

Will rubs his eyes.

There's a splash and then a wet hand grabs the pearly white scarf he's painstakingly tied into a fashionable knot. Will stumbles down onto his knees on the wet marble floor next to the fancy white bathtub. 

His hand slips on the wet rim of the tub.

Regal's skin is slick and warm from soaking in the hot water. A wet tendril of hair stuck to the side of his neck.

When he presses up against Will the scented bath oils clinging to his skin soak into the soft wool of Will's jacket. That's going to stain.

"Let me take this off."

"No."

The kisses down the side of his neck have a lot less teeth than usual.

"You're going to be late", Regal's lazy whisper tickles the shell of Will's ear, "and then you'll be in trouble."

"You need to get ready, my King."

The pout makes Regal look like he's five years old.

"You need to change", he says, pushing Will back so firmly that he loses his balance and ends up sitting on the wet floor. "You look like a mess, I can't have that. Even the peasants are going to laugh at you."


	8. Honey gold (Molly/Amber)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a kisslet that grew into a very self-indulgent ficlet

The woman looks entirely out of place there, standing there in her cluttered doorway. She feels like she should apologize for the dust that has dimmed the bright gold accents of her fine riding boots.

Molly is certain she has never met this woman in her life, she would never forget someone like this. 

She's tall and slim, honey tanned skin and golden hair. 

There's a faint rosy blush on the woman's cheeks from the long ride in the ruthless summer heat, and a loose strand of golden hair sticks to the side of her face, curving over her sharp cheekbone.

Dust from the road clings to her dark gold eyelashes and glitters in the sunlight as she blinks.

"My husband is not here", Molly says and belatedly realises she's been wiping her hands on her apron for a little too long.

The woman smiles, genuine and disarming, her tawny eyes crinkling.

"That's quite alright. My business is not with him."

"Oh?"

"It's with you. Or, well, your daughter, to be precise."

She fans her face with a delicate hand gloved in supple brown leather. "This heat is dreadful. May I come in?"

Molly gives an embarrassed little laugh.

"Of course, I'm sorry. Please." She turns and gestures the beautiful stranger past her into the hut. She's painfully aware of the low ceiling, the unpainted windowpanes and the awful soot doodle Nettle has drawn on the hearth stone. She's proud of her home and the effort she makes to keep it neat and cozy, but she's never had guests this grand before.

"How lovely and cool it is here", her guest says, as if reading her thoughts. She twirls around like a little girl and the flared hem of her pale gold riding jacket unfurls around her like the wings of a butterfly fresh out of its cocoon, revealing skintight brown leggings above the shiny leather of her knee-high boots.

The contrast between her childish joy and grand clothes is arresting, Molly can't help but smile. 

"Cool and messy", she replies.

"Messy?" the woman pauses mid-spin, on her toes like a dancer, and meets Molly's eyes over her shoulder. "Cozy and full of happiness I would say."

"Oh I'm so glad", Molly blurts out, "I was afraid you'd find it drab."

"Drab?" the woman is incredulous, "how could I possibly? Your home is lovely. And who is the fine artist that made this?"

She kneels down by the hearth, heedless of her fine clothes.

"That would be my daughter. Whoever taught her those things will be in trouble with her father, that's for sure."

The stranger studies the mess as if it were an illustration by a famous scribe. "She has an eye for anatomy." She grins up at Molly. "And I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, young artists will pick up on these things. They don't need anyone teaching them." 

One pale brown eyebrow raises in a hint of something, the smallest of suggestions but somehow Molly's body responds to it like never before. She squeezes her thighs together. She's not a young girl anymore, she had all but forgotten what it felt like to want someone just for the sake of it. 

The woman turns back to Nettle's drawing, runs her long fingers through her golden hair. Molly bites her lip.

"I should know", the woman continues, as Molly tries to gather her thoughts, "I used to be one."

"Used to?"

The woman straightens with a sigh.

"I dabbled in it. Turns out I was meant to do something else instead."

"Oh. What is that?"

The woman tilts her head and a loose golden lock falls over her eye. 

"To come and see you."

Goodness. Molly swallows. She's never been this wet in her entire life. It's like she's not even herself anymore, as if when she opened her door to this woman she left her own mundane life behind and became a character in one of those stories that women repeated, quietly and blushing, at the washing court, about ladies who had nothing to do but look beautiful and experience wonderful things with noble, handsome men.

In the stories the men never get flustered, but her guest suddenly blushes and glances at her feet. It does nothing to subdue Molly's blooming feelings. 

"I must apologize for my lack of manners, my lady", the stranger says, and Molly nearly bites through her own cheek at the honorific, "I never did introduce myself. My name is Amber."

"I'm Molly. Molly Chandler. But you probably knew that, if you knew to come here."

"Ah, you're right. I did know", she curtsies to Molly as if she truly were a noble lady, "but I'm very pleased to formally make your acquaintance."

Her voice is teasing yet earnest, and Molly can't help but smile. She gestures towards the table on the other side of the room, thanking Eda she had the sense to wipe it clean of the morning mess. Treating the garden with chicken manure was a cleaner chore than trying to get porridge into Nettle and Chivalry.

"Please, come sit down."

"Thank you."

"I'd offer you some brandy or something but…" she pauses awkwardly. Amber is so elegant, yet so easy to talk to, like someone Molly has known her entire life, and she's found herself sharing things she's never voiced before. But it's still hardly appropriate to admit to someone you've never met before that you're married to a man who makes it unsafe to have strong drink in the house.

Her anger flashes. Why is it that she's always the one who has to be embarrassed for things men do? She draws a long breath through her nose and smiles at her guest. "Would you like some cold honey tea?"

"That would be perfect, thank you."

Molly slips out the back door to the small root cellar behind the cottage. The cooler air and earthy smell clears her head a bit.

This is silly, she thinks as she chooses the brightest gold bottle from the shelf. Silly, childish and wistful.

The sun hangs hot and heavy above the forest covered hills, giving everything a syrupy golden glow. A shiver runs down Molly's spine despite the heat.

She paused with her hand on the door handle. 

Wistful, yes. Pure imagination. So what is the harm in enjoying herself a bit. 

She smoothes her hair back, then frowns and sets the bottle down on the doorstep to undo the clasp holding her curls up. 

The bottle makes for a useless mirror but on her third try she's content if not happy with the result. She wipes the seat off her brow and gives in to a fleeting impulse, loosens the lacing on her blouse just a little.

Amber is sitting right where she left her, but holding a dark leather bag she didn't have before. Or did she? Molly wouldn't put it past herself to have overlooked that detail. The woman looks up as she enters and smiles.

As Molly gets two of her cleanest glasses and pours some tea for them, Amber undoes the wooden clasp, shaped like a cornflower, and opens the bag.

"Oh!" Molly exclaims when she pulls out the first item. It's a green dragon, exquisitely detailed and painted with something that catches the gold of a sunbeam and glitters like a beetle. Amber's gloved fingers squeeze at some hidden mechanism on the creature's neck and it's jaw opens to reveal a red mouth and tiny white teeth.

"It looks quite flimsy but should be durable enough to withstand a child's play."

"You haven't met my children."

"No, I haven't", Amber says and Molly thinks she can hear a hint of sadness there. Amber hands the toy to her. 

"But if they do manage to break it I'm sure I can get them a new one."

Molly turns the dragon in her hands. It's made of wood, but how, she cannot fathom. It must be worth a fortune, a toy fit for a little prince or a princess.

She takes a sip from her glass, the cool tea feels like ice in her mouth.

"There's also these, to be spread amongst you however you like."

A delicate wooden comb, adorned with a moon moth, a pin in the shape of a jumping rabbit and a, that couldn't be? Molly reaches out to touch without realising what she's doing. 

It's a pendant on a white leather band, made of some golden brown wood. A curving chunk of honeycomb, dripping gleaming gold honey down the wearer's neck.

"This is beautiful", she whispers, following one stretch of smooth wood down to the bulging droplet at the end with her fingertip. "I don't even know what to say."

"I'm very glad you like you like it."

"How could I not! It's… I have never seen anything like it before."

Her fingers are feeling wood but her eyes are still convinced it's real honey.

"I cannot believe you came all this way just to bring me gifts. Breathtaking gifts, but for me?"

"Not exactly", Amber says and a hint of blush rises to her cheeks. "I… found these and hoped you might like them. My true reason for visiting was to see you and make sure you were alright. People that I care about a great deal care a great deal about you. And there are worse things to be a part of in this world than a circle of caring."

Molly laughs. "That sounds like the beginning of a story."

Amber's eyes lock with hers, and the intensity of her gaze makes the laughter die at Molly's lips. 

"I hope it is", she says, her voice low.

For a moment they just stay like that, looking at each other, until the tension is all but unbearable. Just as Molly is about to stand up, say something silly or lean over, Amber looks away and resumes her talking, something about people's lives being colourful strings running over and under each other and occasionally tangling and knotting.

Molly draws a deep breath and let's it out very slowly.

She watches Amber's lips when she speaks, fascinated by her own attraction to the woman. She's always appreciated beauty in her own sex, but only from afar, not daring let those thoughts take full form. And here she is, a married mother of two, desperately wishing to know if this strange woman's lips truly taste of dark blueberry honey.

Amber twirls the comb she brought in her hand, around each slender finger, too fast for Molly's eyes to keep up. 

She's still idly rubbing the carved drop of honey with her thumb, something about the delicate round shape is just begging to be touched.

It doesn't feel like paint or polish but something must have been done to the wood to make it look so dewy and wet.

With a jolt she realises Amber is watching her.

"More tea?" she asks stupidly, getting up before her guest has time to point out that the bottle on the table is still half full.

Amber's lips part, but she says nothing. Her eyes flicker from Molly's face down to her hands and back again. 

The very air feels different, alive with implications and hidden meanings, buzzing like a swarming beehive.

"Some water?" Molly asks and wonders what it really is that she is asking.

"Please."

The muscle in the woman's cheek twitches, maybe her mouth feels as dry as Molly's.

When Molly gets to the kitchen corner she leans against the window sill and finally out the breath she's been holding.

There is far less of the sun visible from behind the hilltops than she had anticipated. How did time pass this quickly?

The children would be home soon, this moment over, for good. 

Fading into memories like so many other things in her life seem to have done, barely leaving a mark on the now.

She leaves the glasses, turns around, not allowing herself to hesitate.

It takes six steps to get back to the table.

She expects Amber to jump when she touches her shoulder without warning, but she doesn't, merely turns her head enough that her hair tickles the back of Molly's hand.

She doesn't know what to say so she just braces her other hand against the back of Amber's chair and leans down to kiss her.

Cool, soft lips meet hers, and she can feel a soft intake of breath against her mouth. She's thrilled to find the other woman as enthusiastic as she is. 

Their teeth clink together, Molly's calves hurt from the awkward crouch she's standing in, it's exhilarating, dizzying, perfect.

Amber's hand comes up to cup the back of Molly's head to pull her closer. Molly pulls at the hem of her skirt to get it out of the way as she tries to fit on Amber's chair with her, while Amber is reaching up, at the edge of her seat.

The result is not very graceful but all the sweeter for it. Molly bumps her knee on a table leg and Amber laughs against the side of her neck as she swears under her breath.

She ends up straddling one of Amber's slim thighs. She's sure Amber can feel her pulse, hammering between her legs. Her cheeks burn.

Amber's lips and tongue feel cold against her heated skin, and she tastes of tea.

One lace-covered hand slides down her hip, caressing every curve Molly has come to think of as 'homely' or 'maternal' but in a way that makes her feel beautiful. She hasn't been exciting to anyone in so long, never felt interesting as just herself, but Amber certainly seems to think so.

She sinks her fingers into the flesh of Molly's upper thigh and gasps against the sweaty skin of her neck.

For some odd reason she thinks of Fitz then. The beautiful, frustrating boy she loved so much. The image is so vivid she almost shouts out his name. The Fitz she sees is a man now, tired and alone, dredging through some strange, inhospitable land. 

She opens her eyes only to blink away tears.

Amber whispers something to her, in a strange, musical language, words interspersed with kisses to the shell of her ear.

There's one that she keeps repeating, over and over again, like a name, or a prayer. It's both confusing and inviting, a word of welcome offered to a foreign visitor on a cold day.

Amber's thigh trembles between Molly's legs. Molly's fingers tremble on the gold buttons of her coat. She settles for grabbing the front of the garment as her release takes her by surprise. She gasps into Amber's mouth. It's never been like this, with anyone. White light fills her vision and she shudders in Amber's embrace.

"Steady now", the other woman quips, but her voice is low and thick with lust.

Molly gives a tired laugh.

"All your fault", she manages. 

Amber's smile looks entirely unrepentant.

Molly has no choice but to kiss her.

This one is cut short by the door opening. Nettle and Chivalry are singing, off key and loud, the endlessly looping song about the princess's fourteen coats. 

Molly's exhausted legs nearly give in as she jumps up from Amber's lap.

Chivalry is the first to notice them. Nettle goes on singing as she fights with the knots of her leather sandals. 

"...But her favourite one was whiiiiiiiiiiite!" she finishes the refrain before looking up to see what Chivalry is looking at. "Oh!"

She straightens her spine. "My name is Nettle", she says, pronouncing every syllable very carefully.

"Nice to meet you, Nettle", Amber replies, sounding very earnest despite her undone cuffs and messy hair.

Nettle pokes her brother in the arm. "Say your name!"

"Ice tea!" Chivalry says and skips past Amber. He's just tall enough to reach the tea with the very tips of his fingers.

"Mama he can't drink straight from the bottle!" Nettle's sounds indignant and loud.

"I'm sorry", Molly whispers at Amber. The other woman smiles, then pushes away from the table with a jolt as the tea bottle falls over with a clang.

Molly closes her eyes.

"My shirt is wet", Chivalry wails.

"Nettle, help your brother change", Molly says. It feels difficult to get the words out. "I'm going to see our guest out."

"She's not staying? I wish she could stay, she's very pretty."

"I'll come back", Amber tells her. "And in the meantime, I was hoping you could find some use for these." She reaches over the puddle of tea to set the dragon back on its feet.

"A dragon!" Chivalry squeaks.

"Not until you've washed your hands, changed your shirt and cleaned up", Molly tells him, "Nettle, please help your brother."

"In a moment", the little girl says. She heaves a sigh great enough to lift her slim shoulders and turns back to Amber.

"Thank you very much."

"You're very welcome. It was lovely to meet you, Nettle." She holds out a gloved hand and Nettle shakes it. 

"Will you, truly?" Molly asks Amber when her front door closes between them and the noise of her children trying to clean up after the tea accident.

"Will I what?"

"Come back?"

Amber smiles but her eyes are sad.

"Please come back."

"I will try my absolute best." She bends her golden head to brush the back of Molly's hand with her lips, light as a whisper. "I promise, my lady."

As she turns to go she says something else, but low, under her breath. Molly can't quite catch what she said but she thinks it was "Red-skirts".

That cannot have been right, she shakes her head.

Molly Chandler drags her unwilling feet back inside her house, ignoring the lonely tear that runs down her left cheek. 

_ Out she comes, as bright as snow, _

_ Rings on her fingers, bells on her toes _


	9. Snapshots I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A series of silly little ficlets based on discord prompts
> 
> 1) Fitz introducing Amber to Patience  
> 2&3) Idiot Coterie celebrates Winterfest  
> 4) Galen shaved his head for cult leader cred and after his death Serene copied the look  
> 5) Justin has ideas about Skill-wizard fashion  
> 6) Amber introduces Fitz to Ophelia  
> 7) Patience moved to Withywoods with Fitz and Molly

"You have met her, Mother", Fitz repeats, and the tenderness in his voice makes Amber's heart ache a little. She wonders if he has any idea how beautiful he is like this, one had gently steadying the old lady as she makes her way across the room, leaving a trail of leaves, broken earrings, bits of charcoal and other mixed knick knacks for him to pick up as she digs around her apron pocket. Every awkward step he takes to keep pace with the old woman is so full of warmth, the exasperated little laugh he gives when he stoops back down again to catch a tiny ball of yarn that slips from his overflowing grasp holds more tenderness than most people feel in a lifetime.

He loves so fiercely, so thoroughly and with everything he has. Sometimes when he looks at her she has to close her eyes because she can't feel so much. 

"Yes, yes, so you've told me", Lady Patience scolds her late husband's son. "I don't care who she was before. I care about who she is now. Too damn skinny she is, my old dress is going to need a lot of taking in. I will not have her marry you in an ill-fitting dress."

*

He's balancing on the tips of his toes on a footstool that is standing on one of the blocky wooden chairs that they use for Coterie meetings. The structure is wobbly and barely tall enough to allow him to reach up to hang the slightly wilted but nevertheless very pretty holly branch to the ceiling 

A lesser man might have stepped down, but Justin knows he won't fall. There is no way he can screw this up, not when Serene has agreed to putting up decorations for the first time ever. Well, she's agreed to let Justin do it. She is not helping at all, but she's not telling him to stop, either. That is progress. Usually she scorns any candle or ornament that might overshadow the ever-lit shrine she's built in honour of their old teacher. 

He's tied a red velvet ribbon around the holly branch to make sure it stands out from all the other holly branches in the castle.

They're not supposed to care about these things. Winterfest and other celebrations are for common people, a distraction for those with no higher purpose. 

Justin tugs at the string carefully. It holds.

He allows himself a small smile. Maybe one tiny distraction won't matter.

*

"You have a  _ what _ ?"

"A Coterie Winterfest gathering."

"That sounds stupid."

"I am well aware."

"Why do you need a separate gathering? Is the actual Winterfest not good enough for your dumb little cult?"

"It's not-"

"Yes it is."

Will considers for a moment. He's going to spend Winterfest sitting in a circle with four people he can't stand, wearing a specially made blue velvet cape, staring at a red candle as opposed to a white one they normally have."

"You're right", he relents. "It is a stupid cult."

Regal tilts his head to see the golden leaves he's spent the last hour arranging into his hair in the mirror.

"Your life sucks."

Will bites his lip to keep the smile from his face.

"It's not that bad.'

*

"He had it right", Serene growls, her voice thick with tears. "He  _ knew. _ "

Long black strands cling to her wet cheeks and lashes, but she doesn't seem to notice them. Justin thinks he should wipe them away but he doesn't dare. 

Getting it neat and even around her ears is difficult, he actually nicks the skin at her left temple and gives a terrified little shout. Serene doesn't even notice.

Her face has gone all stony again, red-rimmed eyes staring through the candle flame into the rushing River, searching for a familiar voice. Justin let's his fingertips graze her newly shaved scalp. The stubble tickles his skin.

He doesn't want her to be sad. If this is what it takes to make her feel better, he'll do it. And he'll be here, waiting for her to get over it. 

He dares to brush a silky lock of hair off her shoulder, it curls against the sharp ridge of her collarbone before falling into her lap. Her slack hands twitch.

He'll be here.

*

Her face looks frozen apart from the odd twitching under her left eye. He decides to take it as a good sign.

"And it's gold on the inside, see?" he pushes the overly long sleeves up to his elbows, "I think it looks very mystical."

She's still not saying anything. The sleeves fall back down to cover Justin's hands. In retrospect requesting them double the width of his arms might not have been the best idea. He pushes them up again. 

"And it has stars on the hood, see?  _ Constellations. _ " he turns around for her to see. "Because we have the Higher Sense. Penetrating the darkness between the individual minds…" No, that wasn't how it went, "Errr. Or something like that."

Serene blinks owlishly. "I…. don't know what to say."

"You can start with 'thank you', Justin beams. "I had one made for you, too!"

*

Knowing what he knew about wizardwood and dragons did not make facing the Liveship any easier. Quite the opposite. He kept straining every sense he had, reaching with both With and Skill, to make sense of what he was looking at.  _ Who _ he was speaking with. She was magnificent to the point of being a little daunting. And she was very much a person, not a block of anything. She's not real, he told himself and didn't believe it. The fact that she was undetectable to his Wit did nothing, for so was the golden-haired woman standing next to him, the gauzy layers of her pale green dress dancing around her in the ocean wind.

"I have heard so much about you", the figurehead purred, gigantic hands clasped together to her chest, putting him in mind of a child about to unwrap a present. "So,  _ very _ much."

"Ophelia, please", Amber gave a nervous little laugh. She shot an apologetic glance at Fitz, blush rising to her cheeks, "I have no idea what she's talking about."

"I'm sure you don't", he replied, then turned back to the ship. "My name is FitzChivalry Farseer, and I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Ophelia."

"Mmmh, such impeccable manners he has", Ophelia said, eyes still on Fitz but clearly addressing Amber. Fitz tried and failed not to shift his weight nervously. He felt like a horse being considered for sale. 

"Have you told him how much I like to play games?"

"Do you still have the dice I made you?"

"I do, but none of that this time," Ophelia tossed a heavy lock of hair over her bare shoulder, "I have a new game. It's called truth or dare."

*

"I do not wish to be a burden", she repeats. In the last five days since the subject was first brought up Molly has learned not to insist that she won't be. 

"You'd be such a help for me. It's a huge estate and I'm not… comfortable with having a house staff to command."

"I know that, dear. I know that. That is exactly why I suggested it. I know my son, and while he loves you very much that doesn't mean he'll be very useful around the house. Quite the opposite in fact, he's very stupid when it comes to you."

That makes Molly blush. She's heard those very words from Fitz himself, in a feverish whisper against the back of her neck as he pulled her aside to a dark corner in the Great hall, in the middle of a dance.

"I will come to help you but I do not wish to be a burden."

"You know best", Molly agrees. 

"That is why I suggested it."

"I know."

The original suggestion had in fact come from Lacey. Molly had been present when the old woman had painstakingly sat up on the bed she would never again leave, to press a kiss to the palm of her lady and beg her to go to Withywoods. When Patience had insisted that she wouldn't, not without her Lacey, the promise had been wrangled out of Molly. She had agreed, of course she had.

Agreed to a dying wish.

  
  



End file.
